


Story Weaves and Broken Strings

by ShinySilverMirror



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Princess Tutu
Genre: AU and merger, Drosselmeyer ruins everything, Duck and Fakir are reborn into HP land, Magical Ahiru, Magical Fakir, Raven blood Harry, kiss most of canon goodbye
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinySilverMirror/pseuds/ShinySilverMirror
Summary: Magic from a Storyspinner does not fade away just because the writer is gone, and when two Spinners' magic weaves together it certainly won't fade into the night. Once a writer and a duck lived out a life in contentment if not happiness, but perhaps a new story will bring that happiness they gave up...if they can help break a prophecy that feels like a tragic ending Drosselmeyer would love. How it weaves and shapes seems almost unbreakable, but strings can be cut and perhaps this time Dreams can stay unbroken.





	1. Once Upon a Time...

Once upon a time there was a man who died, but could not rest because he was a spinner of tales and his greatest work was unfinished. The man had a machine that would write for him and thus he just had to nudge things a little and watch as his greatest and most beautiful tragedy unfurled delicate petals of a flower called agony. So a town became subsumed within the magic and will of the man as he placed each character in their place like marionettes strung to moving gears to move as he wished them to move. 

For a time the story spun and set itself up just the way the man had wanted, creating a stage that would soon shatter and break in jagged mirror pieces as his tale reached the point where true misfortune would bloom from the seeds planted in false hope. Then the man realized a character was missing and that would be when things would go awry. For though the character was one that was meant to barely be of any consequence except as yet another slow and torturous nail within the coffin that is the Hope in the heart of the Prince, it was still a vital character for this modified version of the tale he was spinning.

This is where things became undone for the vision that man wished to create.

Once there was a duck that through fate became a girl who would become a princess and with the help of a Knight who would lay down his sword to take up the quill rewrote the ending the man had been working so hard towards; and thus ruined a tragedy that would have unknowingly fueled even greater evil to seep out into the rest of the world that had slowly forgotten that magic was once abundant and real within its realm. The Prince and his chosen Princess returned to the land created long ago to set right what had been left in chaos when the man had died, and the Writer and the Duck remained in a town that slowly returned to an ordinary town with barely any sign that magic had once saturated its very being. 

For a time it all became as it should be with the town bustling and growing in the way towns due through the years, and the young man grew up and grew old writing stories in a cottage by a small little lake where a small yellow duck would swim peacefully in all day.

This was how it was supposed to be and both kept such close to their hearts as a reminder, both afraid to ask for more than what they had already been given because to ask for more is how many stories begin and they were both tired of stories. So the Writer and the Duck lived, if not happily at least in contentment until both breathed their lasts within moments of one another. Thus their story should have ended.

But what the Writer and Duck, even the Prince and Princess had not thought about was that such power as the man had held and the Writer had also used was magic that would not just quietly disappear from the world like mist burned away by the sun. It seeps and remains in everything it touches, right down to the very soul and this along with how the magic that had seeped into both of them had been both set up for tragedy and triumphant hope that things do not end as neatly as this bittersweet ending was meant to.

So the magic sent them to a new story where the strings of magic that would weave a tragedy had already begun a tapestry of conflict, the hopeful light that was the magic created by a Knight and a Duck created ripples that would change it to a much better outcome for both them and those the story was originally intended for.

 

Once upon a time four people of magic decided to build a school where those with the gift for such could learn and be safe from those who did not understand such a gift. For a time the four worked together in unison bringing knowledge to many young minds and thus allowed magic to flourish in new ways. However, that unison was broken due to a quarrel between two of the four that soon led to them scattering to the winds, their bonds of friendship broken over something that cooler heads would have found a compromise for. The school that was their legacy continued on, though the nature of the sundering of the four became warped over time and caused a bitter feud between two factions within the school to take root and flower a tree of tragedy that would be the basis for a new story.

For many years after the four had separated and died those of magic hid themselves away from those that did not have their gifts, and while this isolation kept them safe it also caused arrogance to grow within the magicals. Many forgetting just why they had separated themselves from the rest of the world and thus saw themselves as better than those without their gift. Soon many believing they had done so not out of fear but out of pride to not sully themselves amongst those so much lower than them. Much as royalty had done to peasantry so long ago.

This soon created conflict as those with such beliefs soon saw those who came from families without a drop of magic appearing in their world with such a gift as an affront and unnatural. For surely magic was not meant for such people who had not grown up surrounded by such and thus they resented. The new magicals were not wholly blameless as they who had grown up in a culture where magic was make believe or considered a sign of evil, many looked at the traditions that had been held meant to strengthen ones connection to magic and with the earth as barbaric or not needed. Creating a conflict that compromise was never even thought of by either side, as both believed their ways were the true and only ways regarding the gift they all shared. Thus divided they became and conflict led to violence and the rising of Dark Lords woven and directed by strings of tragedy laced magic.

Thus where the true story begins.

Once there was a boy who had a gift to write stories that became reality that was mistaken as a gift of Prophecy before he would remember a life as a Knight and a Writer.

Once there was a girl who at a young age could magically change into a little yellow duck, her young age and inexperience with such magic made it uncontrollable for many years, until she remembered being a duck that turned into a girl who could become a princess.  
Once there was a boy who through tragedy and the writings of a story survived against a curse that no other had ever survived against and would become burdened with the weight of Prophecy and slowly choked by the strings of tragedy that the man who had died had seeped into the world.

A story was written and seemed set in stone but the girl who is sometimes a duck and the boy who breathed power into words had fought such before and would do so again, changing the story as they and the boy who lived fought against their fate.

 

Once upon a time a young boy and girl lived in an orphanage…


	2. Childhood and Letters

Once upon a time a young boy and girl lived in an orphanage. It was not a horrible run down one like many stories would have, nor was it some wonderful and enchanted place of sweetness and light. It was ordinary with many children and overworked staff and volunteers. Some children were adopted, others weren’t, and still others would end up moving through the foster system. It was neither bad nor good in terms of childhood memories for many who grew up in those walls and was just another aspect of life to live through.

For a particular pair it was the place of a friendship that should not have happened, but did.

The boy had been there since a young age. Left on the doorstep in nothing but a thin blanket and an odd lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He was called Corbin for the matron that found him had a flair for literature dramatics and had liken his wild hair as messy feathers of a raven. The bright green eyes and pale skin only making her even more ready to spin a story, to the tired amusement of her coworkers, that this child was a fae child lost to the winds or left here for a purpose before giggling and wondering how long the child would be in their care for. For babes, especially those with striking features were always the first ones snatched up by hopeful parents that managed the financial and paper work induced hurdles it takes to adopt. Surprisingly to all, the baby despite his looks and sweet nature was oddly ignored by hopeful new parents and thus little Corbin grew into a toddler and then a child within the walls of the orphanage. A normal child by all accounts who played and fussed like any child, yet seemed to always be overlooked somehow by many.

The girl, while older by four months, at times seemed much younger then him in her view of the world, had arrived when she was seven, all bright hair that was such a soft shade of red that in some lights it almost seemed to be a shade of pink, freckles across a tiny nose and large blue eyes in an adorable pale face. She was energy and cheerful chatter with the grace of a hatchling learning how to use its wings, and an almost radiant passion for ballet, which was where the only bit of grace she had seemed to be in for she did not trip and fall as much when focused on just dancing. She was called Arianna, though she freely admits that the foster home she had been in before had affectionately called her Entlein which was apparently German for duckling, and thus didn’t mind being called Duck as well by those who fondly saw how much like a little duckling she was.

The two had become friends almost instantly and were thick as thieves, chasing supposed fairy lights in the small courtyard or telling one another tales of a possible dragon in the basement. (It was just the furnace being particularly grumbly that season as it worked a little harder when the cold months settled in.) All between dodging or grudgingly finishing homework in subjects they did not like or had trouble in. Both growing up with modest dreams of finishing school and hopefully gaining jobs they would like if not love. Arianna with sights set not on being on stage but just being allowed to dance and teach others to love dance. A dream more likely than she believed as despite her clumsiness in most things her personality and dedication to ballet had given her enough to be noted as potential for at least a spot in a dance corps. Corbin like many had no set dream and instead cycled through various ones as his interests in things grew and waned like many children. 

Though both in childish wisdom and innocence agreed that no matter what they’d still be friends long after they were both too old to remain in the care of the orphanage.

Then one day two letters arrived.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arianna had seen them first, because she always was eager to help and sorting the mail after being dropped off was a simple task, and they were such odd letters written on something that wasn’t paper and with loopy handwriting in an ink that somehow felt familiar in a way her eleven year old heart ached for a few moments. A chirp like sound of confusion was the mark of a flow of chattering questions the bemused caretaker next to her tried to answer. Questions about what it was (Parchment), who uses such (Very few because paper was easy and cheap to gain), what was in the letters (Wouldn’t know until whoever they were for opened them and told if they wanted to tell them.) So busy in her chattering it wasn’t until they those two odd letters were the last to be sorted that her blue eyes looked down at them and realized one of them had her name on it.

That had set her off even as Corbin owlishly blinked at her in a half asleep state because Corbin was not a morning person in the slightest, only to stop and chatter even more when the second letter’s name was noted.

Harry (Corbin) James Potter

“Your names Harry? I didn’t know that, oh you didn’t know that either I’m sorry I forgot but look that means you do have a birth certificate out there, though I still like Corbin better because that makes us bird friends and who do you think wrote such odd letters to us? How did they know your real name or that you were here though because everyone said you didn’t have anything with you to tell them your name when you showed up.”

“Perhaps little Duck the answers lie inside the letters if little birds would open them.”

The fondness in the tone of the elderly worker took any sting from the slight rebuke, and even Corbin woke up enough to carefully take his letter and for both to silently agree to open them at once.

“Quaaa?”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minerva Mcgonagall Deputy Head of Hogwarts, Transfiguration Professor, and Head of Gryffindor House found herself stalling outside the slightly grungy building that housed two new prospective students. A great part of her was not amused by her hesitation, she was a lioness after all they were meant to charge forward into the unknown with bravery as light and shield. Yet, here she was dithering under the excuse of collecting her thoughts, because of the fact that she should only have been coming to this specific place for one student and not two, and that second student was the center of all of her fine control being tested.

Harry Potter was meant to be living with his maternal Aunt and her family, she had been assured that he would be there living a normal, if magicless life, away from those that would only see his scar or want to use him because of said scar. Yet, yet, here she was holding the reply for two children residing within a children’s home that was hardly noteworthy in anyway. A little worn in age, and grungy from pollution but nothing remarkable at all. Even its reputation; for despite what many believe she was a lot more connected to the muggle world than most other magicals as it would be far harder to convince parents this is the right choice for their child if she couldn’t explain magic to them in ways they understand after all, was average and ordinary. No scandals or murmurs of it being a horrible place to live or tales of sugary nonsense of it being like a fairy tale home. While this was reassuring in many ways for her regarding the son of two of her favorite lions, the fact he was here at all was alarming in and of itself. Just how long had he lived here? Did something happen that not even Albus knew about regarding the Dursley family as a whole? Or were they just as despicable as she feared and left him here willingly? The fact there was a name not of his birth added to his addressed letter and was the one he preferred being called just made that uneasy fear more real to her, because a child to be used to another name meant growing up not hearing their actual name.

Answers to these questions were inside waiting for her and she wasn’t likely going to get them just standing out here. She had even made certain to not give away anything about this visit being what it was to the rest of the staff because she wanted to make sure herself that James and Lily’s child was safe and whole first before baring down on Albus and Severus regarding this revelation. Albus for clearly lying all these years in his reassurance the boy was safe and loved by his family, and on Severus when he would start making his grudge filled remarks about this boy being just like his father. Fortifying herself with one more mental slap and spine become the steel it was known by all her students she briskly marched into the courtyard and up through the double door entrance into the lobby area.

For a moment it felt like she didn’t prepare enough as both children were sitting and waiting for her, along with an elderly lady with dove grey hair in a serviceable bun. The little girl, Miss Arianna Edelweiss was tiny and bright and she just knew that one was meant for Pomona to coo over, the feathery like cowlick on top of her head barely making her as tall as the boy next to her when they stood just made it harder to not like the child with such long bright red hair and blue eyes that just seemed to already be happy to meet anyone they saw. The boy though was like looking at a ghost of two people and she had to catch her breath for a moment. Yes there was much of James in the boy, but there was also a lot of Lily as well in that face. Not at all like those silly drawings and descriptions in those books of nonsense that just lazily took a likeness of James as a boy and only changed the color of the eyes and added the scar. Yes, the scar was there peeking past long and unruly bangs, and those large green eyes were the same exact shade and shape as Lily at that age, even the hair had the curse of messiness to it in a way. Yet, there was so much that was a mixture of both parents and some hints of his grandparents as well in that face. Those high cheekbones were clearly from the Black side of his family tree, and the hair while messy was dark and feathery making it seem like a messy nest of bird feathers then what James had, the slightly longer length likely helped as James never wore his long enough for the tips to brush past his chin like Harry was. Even the slight upturn of the nose was much like his grandfather at that age while the coltish limbs was much like how his grandmother had been as a young lass.

It was seeing so many little things of various people that hit her more then if he truly had been a replica of James with Lily’s eyes as the public wished to believe. Because this felt more real in this being the wee babe she had hesitated to leave on that doorstep so many years ago.

_‘Steady on, you have a job to do. Wool gather later.’_

“Good day, I’m Professor Mcgonagall children and I’m here to answer any questions you have about Hogwarts.”

It is during the back and forth that she soon realizes how utterly right both of the names the two prefer fit as the bright little girl flutters and chatters like a happy little duckling and the boy she feels like she has failed, while quieter than the girl has no hesitation in asking his own curious questions and giving sly little amused looks much like she would expect a raven to give as it plans mischief from its perch above you. 

Then she learns about how they realized they were magical and has to sit back when to demonstrate Corbin, he isn’t Harry and she sees how happy he is as Corbin she can not dare take that from him, bangs his chair down suddenly to startle little Arianna and she finds herself looking down at the crumpled blue dress the little girl was wearing as a sunshine yellow duck with bright and too human blue eyes waddles out from beneath the folds.

Both are relieved when she admits clothing is always the hardest part to keep but can be learned with practice, and she can’t help but wonder if black and yellow feathers will be found through the halls of Hogwarts in a few years when she watches those bright green eyes brighten at the admittance anyone can become an animal if they have the dedication and work ethic for it. Even as she attempts to recall what she had learned as an apprentice so long ago about those that unlock the transformation early and spontaneous like this little girl has done. She almost can’t wait to see what these two will do in her class when allowed to try.

Her aiding in bringing little Arianna back into human form seems to cement something in both children as they appear even happier to flit and follow behind her as she escorts them to Diagon Alley for the first time for school supplies.


	3. A boy called Seer

Once upon a time there was a pureblood family, though there were those of a certain leaning who believed they should have lost the right to call themselves such for their practice to marry half blood and muggleborn spouses, but by the definition of pureblood in the Old Laws they were still considered such for they retained being an all magical family.

Among this large clan like family was a half blood father and a muggle born mother who adored and cherished their son. Delighting in his storytelling and avid fascination for books and knowledge that they encouraged with gifts of writing tools and story books from far off countries to incite his imagination.

One day the little boy felt an odd throbbing in his right hand and a thin scar like mark appeared looking as if something had stabbed clean through it, though nothing such had ever happened. The parents had worried at first but the healers assured, even as they too were puzzled by such, that there was nothing wrong with their son and to treat such as a birthmark. Until one day the scar throbbed again and the little boy felt an urge to write that he couldn’t ignore. The words that fell from ink and quill were not the normal words of a young boy fascinated with stories of adventure and discovery. Indeed it seemed to be a story of one of his cousins that had gone on holiday getting into an odd mishap that had said cousin lose the tip of a fingertip due to an enrage gryffin that he had stumbled upon by accident when looking for a rare plant in a mountain. The story was puzzled over and put aside, almost forgotten about by everyone in the family until the cousin returned home, missing the tip of a finger and regalling them with the tale of how such happened.

The story was soon passed around again as the adults marveled at how exact the story written was to the tale they had been told. Even some details they had not heard because their cousin had not been paying attention to fully notice such until reading that story and having those little memories slot into place. The family as a whole decided to keep this a Secret, for this could be a sign of something grander than just a story.

During the years when more stories written came true the family began to whisper and call the child a Seer child and began to wonder how to help this talent grow for the betterment of the family as a whole. The mother and father however were concerned and did not want this gift to become a curse to their son, so they began to visit and introduce their child to the mother’s magic less brother.

The man was a metal worker, and though not an ounce of magic could be found in his veins, to the young boy it was clearly some sort of magic in how his uncle could turn lumps of metal into so many things, from knives and horse shoes, to tin soldiers and music box ballerinas. Because of this and the uncle not wishing any magic of his own or to be used, made his home a safe haven for the young boy when he family kept looking for more and more stories to come true so they could use them to help the family as a whole become more.

It was in this the young boy also gained a fondness for ballet. He did not want to only do ballet, for despite his fear of the stories that came true writing was still what he loved most of all, but something about it felt familiar to him. More so when after a time he would dream fleeting glimpses of a different class learning ballet and someone with bright hair that he wanted to dance with.

Once upon a time the magic that flowed with tragedy formed a noose around the neck of this large family and a dark lord destroyed most of it, and after being vanquished his followers completed its destruction.

All save for the little boy who they called a Seer, who in a fever dream had wrote a story of the skulls that were eating a snake would eat the family with black flames. A story his parents burned without him realizing it was even written before bundling him up and leaving him with his uncle and walking back into their tragic fate.

The boy did not learn of the story, instead believing that if he had been able to write one of those stories that came true he could have saved his family. Because of this he refused to write a story ever again and learned to ignore the itch in fingertips when an idea hit, and to pretend that the throbbing of a True story did not exist even as it throbbed and ached that he could almost imagine a sharp knife right through his hand, exactly where the scar like mark was. Even when he gained a letter to learn magic he refused to ever write a story again and pretended that he had ever had such a talent to begin with.

Bitter and cold, and with biting words the boy joined the house of bronze and blue, for despite his vow to never write another story his passion for books and knowledge could not be extinguished. Though what had once been the passion of a writer for such was now the dedication of a knight as he read and practiced in order to become strong enough that he could fight against a threat instead of being useless as he had been before, even as he also made certain never to get close to anyone again in case they were taken from him like before, because he was too weak to protect them.

Once upon a time a mage knight with the soul of a writer met a duckling and fledgling raven and the strings of tragedy around his heart soon began to break.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fakir easily ignored the crowds of shoppers, even as he mentally berated himself for deciding this day of all days to go to the second hand bookshop to see if anything new may catch his interest. He knew today would be busy since the letters for Hogwarts had gone out, a testament to such in his coat pocket as the parchment of his school list crackled as he moved. Luckily most of the crowd would stay on the main street for such and few would go down the smaller streets to the not as well known shops for supplies. The purebloods out of snobbery since those smaller shops were usually second hand shops and most would rather die than wear something that wasn’t new.

_‘And I have to play nice with some of them because I can’t give reasons for them to think I’m anything less than one of them before I’m seventeen.’_

The scowl on his face became even darker and knife sharp at the thought, seventeen seemed so far away at the age of thirteen when so many supposed ‘friends’ of the family kept circling around waiting for him to show a weakness they could exploit. He missed when he was just another child in a branch family of the McKinnon clan, he missed having a large clan to be honest but he shoved that hurt back down where it belonged and focused on the irritation over how he was now the head of a family of ghosts that some were hoping to ensnare and populate to their liking.

Lost in such thoughts his mind took a few seconds longer than it normally would to realize the woman with the steel straight spine and hair in a severe bun wearing tartan robes was his Transfiguration professor. Not only that but she was talking to two figures he couldn’t see clearly from his angle in the door of the shop and blinking sun blindness away. He was ready to just slip into the stacks and pretend he hadn’t seen the others in the store until one of those Professor Mcgonagall was talking to peeked around the older woman and suddenly he couldn’t **breathe.**

She was small (she was always small, even as a duck. She was always so impossibly tiny and fragile seeming that he was always, always so afraid he would break her and it was only her personality and sheer belief in everyone that made her stronger than anything despite such delicate limbs and a fluttering heart that he didn’t deserve any piece of.) so small that he was almost certain she was a younger sibling as her head barely reached the professors hip, even with that feather like cowlick that fluttered on the top of her head. Until he saw her holding a list that he could make out enough words to show it was a first year shopping list when he thought back to the one he got two years ago. For some reason large blue eyes that for a brief moment he felt should recognize him and he didn’t understand the flare of sharp pain in his chest at the curious look she gave him instead, stared up at him (she was always craning her neck or having to be a certain distance away from him when she looked at him or talked to him, made even more so when she was a duck that fit in his hand and was so low to the ground, and even though he freely picked her up when she had feathers he only had a few moments of two different dances to hold on to where he had held her as a girl.) before flitting around fully to bounce to him. All awkward steps and flailing limbs when she stumbled slightly over a piece of rug before catching herself and finishing her trek over to him.(He was amazed at how she could go from being so scatterbrained and clumsy enough to constantly fall on her face to shaky grace that in time would become confident posture of a dancer that was made more so when she was Princess Tutu, and though he agreed she was a better dancer when she was using such magic he found he liked the awkward flailing and shaky stances far more than the ethereal grace and royal poise she had when she was being the someone meant to help the prince.) A long braid of bright red hair almost as long as she was tall trailing behind her like a banner as she stopped in front of him. Her face leveled with his stomach before she looks up and smiles brightly at him like she walked up to perfect strangers all the time. (It was as she was about to leave, to help fight the Ravens, to give Mytho back his Hope that he was struck with the thought that he had never seen her with her hair down and for one selfish moment he wanted to call her back ask her to be just Ahiru to not give up being a girl, but that would be the opposite of everything he had said, had promised in the Lake of Despair to her and this was not the time to be that weak they had a story to finish and he had already promised…)

Then she begins to chatter and the odd fog and flashes of sights and words he knows but doesn’t know is gone as he attempts to parse what is being said to him even as the professor and another child walk up to them. The boy with raven feather hair tilts his own head at an angle to look at Fakir. An angle that he had watched so many birds use when studying something and the bright green eyes are curious with a glint of something he learned to recognize due to being unfortunately in the same year as the Weasley twins, even if in separate houses, but unlike when he would notice it in the self proclaimed pranksters that glint of mischief doesn’t make him tense and look for the pitfall. More it looks like someone that has found someone to share mischief with instead of torment with it.

Somehow between the chattering of Arianna, and the amused questions of Corbin, who he had already guessed was Harry Potter before names were exchanged because that head tilt had shown the scar clearly, but he barely registered it because he wasn’t an idiot like many other magicals in regards to the whole boy-who-lived frenzy that seemed almost cult like in some regards; he finds himself pulling books off the shelf and giving blunt comments regarding certain things about the magical world that he’s certain the professor that has gone to do an errand when she realizes the soon to be third year has both enthralled somehow would disapprove of. Particularly when he grabs three different potion books and point blank tells them to study as much on their own because the professor of that subject is overly harsh and critical so best to know too much then too little in that class. The two soak up what he’s saying and trail after him like fledglings, even as they get distracted by a title or peculiar binding of a book to investigate and ask him about such because somehow in their eleven year old views he must know everything there is to know despite only being two years older, and somehow despite everything he helps and chides them. Both seeming to not care or just completely accept his caustic words and flares of temper. 

By the time both piles, Fakir’s and the two who despite the fact he knows the Potter family was well off both are sharing the books instead of each taking a copy as if they are used to penny pinching, are purchased and placed away he’s somehow been enfolded into the group. He can see the amusement of such in the eyes of the Professor and he has a mortifying thought of this being spoken of the the other staff at some point, because he knows his head of house has noted and talked about his reclusiveness to not only his year group but his house as a whole.

He barely speaks but they don’t seem to mind as they twitter like a pair of birds in the morning to one another, to the professor, and to him and he learns more than expected as they talk.

He learns neither has a caretaker and a small part of him feels guilty because at least he has his Uncle. He learns that until today Corbin didn’t even know he had a name or a family legacy and Arianna voices for both of them that the trust vault for Corbin made them uneasy because they were used to what was provided by the orphanage and anything extra was gained by earning pocket money from small errands, so that much money was unheard of for them. He learns how both see nothing special about themselves, and while the people that gawk and stare the hunched shoulders and tense back shows the magical world as a whole don’t believe that about him Fakir feels words clogged in his throat that he knows she is also special in someway no one else would understand. He learns by watching that they fit together like twins, two pieces of a whole and somehow he feels that where there is a duck there is always a raven in some form and his heart is just glad for some reason that this time the raven is not an enemy.

“Can we sit with you on the train?”

The fact it’s Corbin who asks is a surprise even as green meets green as Fakir looks down at the boy that acts far too much like the ravens he is named after, even as Professor Mcgonagall attempts to ‘help’ with a quiet “Mr. McKinnon may be sharing a compartment with others.” Which is a bald face lie because the only time he ever ‘shared’ a compartment is because he had no choice or was cornered and unlike today where such had irritated him and caused a few to flee in tears today had felt oddly safe and normal. So he isn’t fully surprise when a casual ‘yeah’ leaves his mouth and Arianna is there all bright and hopeful.

“Do you promise? You don’t have to if you don’t want, but we’re friends now right and it would be fun to sit with friends on the ride there and you can tell us more stories about the school and check to see if we did good in reading everything we should before getting there.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I promise.” (I promised you forever after all.)


	4. Raven Thoughts and Speeding Trains

Once upon a time there was a girl, bright and vivacious with hair the color of flames. A pretty young girl who learned she was magical and held such close to her heart. Even when as she grew and learned within a magical castle and she saw just how cruel and hateful other magicals like her could be because she was an outsider, she still kept that warmth close to her heart. The girl grew up into a stunning young woman and soon married a young man that had loved her for years, but had only learned how to catch her eye when he finally grew up into someone she could stand. Together they had a babe, a son and while darkness of war and violence swirled in the world around them they were for a short time happy. 

Then one day they were told by a man both thought wise and that they could trust to go into hiding because their child was Destined. The parents took heed and hid themselves away hoping that despite the heavy cowl of Prophecy they would be able to protect and love their child for years to come. That is until the young woman stopped for a moment and thought, showing just how bright she was, she started to question everything that she had taken for granted out of fear for her child.

Determined to not leave it all up to chance and steadfast in her vow to allow her child to live she soon began looking into things that most that knew her would have balked at. In her mind if doing so meant her child could be safe and happy then she would destroy her own soul if need be. How great a Love she had for her child.

Weeks were spent toiling in the dark of the night to find an answer in protecting her child when something stirred within her mind. Following the odd pull of strings and the deafening sound of gears going tik tik tik as they rotated and moved found the young mother stumbling across a monstrous looking raven lying bleeding and dying in a dark part of a forest near her home. Not knowing how or why she felt this was important for her task and thus she collected as much of the blood, and the heart of the raven before hurrying back home. Never realizing the rest of the creature and disappeared like black smoke as wild orange eyes seemed to watch the entire scene in amusement.

Once upon a time a desperate mother became entangled in the strings of despair when she found herself following a ritual that infused the blood of a magical creature into a child to give them new strength and to use the heart of the same creature in a potion fed to said child a temporary shield against foul intent.

In many cases such would have faded away leaving only a ‘blood ward’ a man of Greater Good would use to tether the child to a home he would grow up despised in. The raven however was one that was solely created by a Story Spinner long, long ago and used once more in order to allow the Destined child to become entangled in fates far crueler than just a prophecy already fulfilled. 

Once upon a time there was a young boy with raven’s blood flowing through his veins and raven’s power carved as a rune upon his brow.

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Green eyes blinked opened on the morning of September First when there was barely any light to be considered actual dawn. Groggy and confused as a brain not fully awake attempted to figure out why it was awake and why they weren’t going back to sleep before a small hand finally reached out from underneath worn but well cared for covers to snatch up a pair of cheap frames in his eye prescription and placing them on the bridge of his nose. The world came into gloomy but stark clarity and his sight soon landed on the steamer trunk resting near the door to his room like a slumbering animal.

In a rare feat Corbin was suddenly and fully awake at a time where he would normally be sleeping or wishing to be back asleep. Being more attuned to the night he had always felt more energized under the moon and stars then the sun, but the rest of the world sadly did not follow him in such. Differing opinion regarding the best time to be up was forsaken on this particular morning as green eyes already bright seemed to almost glow as he shifted himself to the walk over and run a pale hand down the varnished wood top of the steamer trunk. Their tips lightly tracing his initials in a pretty dark red color that stood out against the lighter brown of the wood. The trunks were one of the few things he had splurged on when he learned about his inheritance and decided to use it for both him and Arianna to have their supplies. His argument that if it had been Duck that had found out she had a lot of money she would have done the same for him making it easy to do so after that. He even convinced the professor easily about getting something other then the ‘standard’ trunks when he mentioned that they would have to keep everything magical in them when they came back to the children’s home during school breaks so they would need good trunks to not only hold all of their magical items but keep them safe and hidden.

Something all children in such places learned was worth more than any actual toys because a toy is worthless if a bully or overly greedy child could find it and snatch it away when you’re not looking. He was also certain that reminder caused an odd emotion to flit across the stern professor’s face briefly when he pointed out they didn’t have homes and thus their own rooms to keep their things in. 

Those thoughts led to him picking up the neatly folded uniform, without the robe that would cause questions to be asked, and taking it with him down the hall towards the bathrooms as his roommate turned over in his sleep quietly. Those had also been bought new and of good quality because he knew how others acted when he and Arianna would start a new school year in clothes that were second hand and looked it, and thus knew that new uniforms were the best way to go. Their ‘normal’ clothes were still worn, but both could say they didn’t want to bring any nicer clothes with when they likely would only be worn to play or explore dusty sections of the large castle. Corbin had already figured out his excuses and half lies for any children attempting to pick and find a reason to make fun of him or his best friend in this new place. Second hand books because it meant if they marked them up or tore a page a little it wasn’t a big deal since the books were already worn and old, and it meant they could buy even more books since the old textbooks were cheaper then new ones, equipment also second hand but in good condition for the same reason. After all what if you knocked your telescope over and it got cracked when carrying it up and down stairs or such?

His thoughts would have instantly have pegged him for Slytherin if any magical had been privy to such as he finished his morning ablutions and double checked once more that everything he needed was packed carefully and safely in his trunk, with the things he didn’t want to be noticed by anyone taking a quick peek in to notice artfully hidden within clothing folds and shadowed spaces. He may not be an active prankster but he was a trickster that took opportunity and revenge seriously, thus supplies at the ready. Perhaps McKinnon would actually unbend enough to help him sometime, especially if he had to take a sneaky pot shot at someone that upset Duck. Actually, he was certain the older boy would happily make whatever he came up with even more mortifying if anyone did make Duck cry. He had noticed how much the other had watched and basically been wrapped around Arianna’s little finger from the moment she had seen him and thought he looked lonely. Corbin had looked and seen someone that maybe wouldn’t judge him for sometimes being too casually cruel in regards to protecting himself and those he cared for, something he felt would be desperately needed when he realized how much like a fairytale hero magicals wanted him to be like and thus would not understand his slight bloodthirsty leanings that made him just as logically cruel as his namesake. Because crows and ravens could be fierce and deadly when their ire is invoked and he had felt since as long as he could remember that was the best way to make certain people wouldn’t hurt him a second time.

It also made it easy to protect the only one that didn’t see that as a bad thing. Little Duck was his best friend, the sister of his heart when he was feeling particularly sentimental, and the only family he actually wanted or claimed in this place. She seemed to realize he wasn’t just a curious trickster that most adults saw as harmless and polite, she seemed to understand he was meaner then he appeared, but only when someone forced the whisper of wings in his mind to flap particularly harshly when they did something that was a threat to him and his. She also didn’t seem to care that he was stupidly possessive of the few people and possessions he allowed himself to really care about, which was mostly just her and some of his books, and thus never seemed as alarmed as others when he would direct her away from those he did not like. Sometimes he wondered if she knew what caused such in him, as sometimes her eyes seemed older and he could almost see the glow of a regal swan in her place sometimes when she would look at him with too old eyes for a moment before it would pass and she was back to being chattering Duck.

He paused to look at the clock on the wall and went to get his trunk down and to the front hall in wait for the taxi as he realized he would need to be even more wary on how he acted. The way adults were acting in Diagon Alley meant their children would be even nosier in regards to watching him at school. This also meant he really needed to make certain whatever happened he ended up in the same house as Duck, because he had seen how some of those adults had sneered at her when they realized she was with him and Professor Mcgonagall. Adults he knew could be dangerous and scary in their own ways, but children were cruel and often overlooked when being cruel so he knew if adults already acted that way to her some of their classmates would be worse and think they could hurt her without thought.

As he sat on his trunk and lightly dozed, for the excitement that had driven him was now gone he was unaware at the blood in his veins that was not naturally his bubble and hiss as his thoughts took such turns, only to settle when the protection of his mother soothed it again. For now the knife edge of his morality remained in balance but Hogwarts may prove the tipping point in whether his mother’s protection or the raven’s blood would win out in the end.

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Kings Cross was a hive of activity at ten in the morning and the hustle and bustle of people moving to and from stations was chaotic and frenzied to those not used to navigating such. Or did not have a luggage cart holding two sturdy trunks to help bulldoze the way for them. That alone is likely why two eleven year olds managed to make it to ‘rest’ on the pillar between platform nine and ten before a blink later they were both gone as if never there, and none the wiser to the busy travellers in the station.

However, what the masses did not see were the two children melting through said pillar and finding themselves upon another busy platform with a scarlet steam engine awaiting the time to depart. Blue and green eyes stared for a moment in wonder before both hastily moved to find a seat. Arianna excitedly exclaiming over how it looked exactly as the book said it did and wondering if Fakir was already here and if not if one of them should stay on the platform and look for him or look for him on the train itself. Corbin listened with half an ear and an amused air when he realized how fixated the small red head had become regarding the older boy that they had only known for half a day. He wasn’t worried about such considering he and Arianna had declared themselves best friends in an hour after meeting on the playground the home had in the back of the property. Arianna was really good at knowing who was a good person without even realizing she was doing so and Corbin had learned to use her to figure out who potential bullies would be when they had gone to school and thus keep her away from such.

The litany of questions came to a halt after they had managed to get their trunks onto the train itself, fervent thanks were mentally made that Corbin had gotten that feather light charm rune on both trunks as both likely would never have been able to do that much on their own with both being small for their age, as they had barely gone two cars down from the engine when Arianna somehow homed in on a Fakir that had been sitting in the corner of a compartment reading a book that looked like it was written in runes. Forest green eyes looked up in surprise when the tiny missile that was Arianna managed to fling herself in and next to Fakir, amazingly only clipping the door frame with a shoulder while doing so, and began to chatter, asking him about his summer and talking about how she had read everything he had recommended and had even taken notes. Corbin snickered as he shoved the trunks into the room and waited for the older boy to realize what he wanted while trying to keep up with an excited Arianna talking a mile a minute at him.

It took ten minutes and two others looking in curiously before Fakir managed to weave around the vibrating girl and almostly smugly place both trunks up in the luggage racks as easily as one would put a book on low shelf. Corbin just gave a flat look that spoke how much he hated the other for being so tall before flopping down opposite of the other two and getting his revenge by also aiding Arianna in forcing Fakir to actually talk and engage in conversation instead of just listening or ignoring them as he likely wanted to do.

Because of their early arrival and the older students knowing to ignore the compartment Fakir was in meant the three were left alone mostly, Corbin only had to duck in a corner twice to hide. Once when a gangly and freckly red head had popped his head in only to leave when he could only see Fakir and Arianna from the door, and again when a snobbish looking platinum blond boy with two larger boys flanking him looked in sniffed at Arianna and attempted to ignore the heated glare from Fakir before leaving as well.

Corbin wondered what that was about, but he didn’t really want to know outside of the fact that he hoped he didn’t have to deal with either boy too much during the year.


	5. Sortings, Meal, and Musings of a Spy

September First was normally a day that for some was a day of excitement, sadness, or frenzied activity. For one Severus Tobias Snape, Potion Master, Head of Slytherin, and Hogwarts professor; today was a day to be particularly sullen and ‘crabby’. More so than years past as he scowled as more and more of his fellow professors seemed to lose their heads for the worst reason he could ever conceive. Harry bloody Potter was to attend Hogwarts this year; and despite the fierce warning from Mcgonagall regarding his expectations of a spoiled brat that is a carbon copy of his reprobate of a father, he only half listened to her assertions such were wrong. She had not been fully ignored as he had watched her round on Dumbledore and verbally tear strips from him regarding how he had lied to her for years regarding his telling her the boy was well and fitting in with his family. Watching the man pale when the word Orphanage had crossed the Deputy Head’s lips had caused Severus to stop in interest. Everyone and their owl had been under the impression that if not with some magical family being spoiled and pampered like a princeling then he was happily living away from such and would be a bright and mischievous child ready to be just like his father with the same mindset as a muggleborn.

His heart deep down wanted to believe one or the other was true, and that the the third option being painted by his counterpart among the Heads of Hogwarts was just a Scottish temper blowing small things out of proportion. He had spent ten years using the son of a dead man to hone his grudge and keep his beliefs up, and if the child is not what he was expecting then everything he had used as a crutch and shield would crumble. Severus was not one to delude himself, to be a spy and keep one’s mind from being broken by a madman or read by an overly manipulative old man you had to know and accept yourself much more fiercely than those who could afford to drown in denial. It was why he had burrowed deep into his lesson plans and arranging everything in his office and classroom to an exacting standards. Almost ruthlessly layering and weaving the spells of protection and warning that had allowed him to keep most of the idiots he had to teach from dying or permanently maiming themselves with a mishap in brewing. If he was too bone weary from such heavy magic then he could put more distance between himself and whatever emotions would flare up when that damnable feast finally fell upon them.

And befall them it did, and in ways that made every expectation many of them had shatter like spun glass being flung from a high tower.

Yes, there was much of the detestable father in the young boy, but there was so much of Lily as well as those eyes had looked around.

It was practice and the fog of weariness that kept his face blank and neutral when the look of cunning and almost bordering on cruel judgement in those eyes and how his hand was being held by a bright little slip of a red head suddenly made him think less of Potter and more of him back then. Back when he was the one sizing the room as Lily looked about in excitement and unaware of how cruel children could truly be. He knew only he and the headmaster saw the coldness and calculating look as Potter shifted himself between the young girl and what was likely yet another Weasley (A family that seemed to lack the good sense to know when to stop when it came to having so many children while relying on such little finances.) before giving a look that spoke so much of how truly little the boy had any desire to do whatever it was the Weasley was rudely trying to make him do as they huddled and shuffled at the front of the room waiting to be called next to be sorted.

The entire hall (baring one notable exception that had Severus mentally tagging the third year Ravenclaw as one to watch, since McKinnon had never invested in a sorting like he was now.) reeled back in surprise when after Edelweiss had gone to Hufflepuff (There was a moment of dread deep down that Severus was watching his own sorting when his only friend had went into a house he couldn’t follow.) Potter had sat down and the hat had barely pause before also placing the son of two typical Gryffindors into the house of badgers. An almost uproar would have happened but Minerva was well used to keeping a tight rein on the miscreants and sharply did so again, even as the spy in him noticed the tightening around her eyes and the slight paleness at the proclamation of Hufflepuff for Potter, even as her eyes had held resignation for a brief moment. A resignation that he was feeling as a shivering finger of ice and dread gliding down his spine and freezing him from the inside out.

He had gone down a path that made him a bitter and lonely man that had flung the only brightness in his life away like trash with one foolish mistake. He had lacked the courage to keep what the selfish and darker part of his mind called his close. Now watching as Potter beams at the chattering slip of a girl, and all but ignoring the rest of the world as it tries to butt in, he can see that where he lacked such Potter did not. He was unaware of what exactly such would lead to in the long run as a slightly shaken, to none but him, headmaster performed his little speech and like a king to his subjects allowed them to finally eat when they had suitably admired him.

Yes, unaware of the true extend, but not witless into seeing what could or would happen.

The smiling boy with raven hair and a coldness shared by those same birds in bright green eyes. Yes, he could see more then his father now, and he wishes it was not so.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is from fanfiction.net and before anyone starts yelling. No this wasn't "taken" I'm the original writer and am just moving it over here as I rarely use that platform anymore.


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